Secondary Highways
by Kpasa
Summary: He's different now, broken and stronger all at once, she finds herself regretting this change. She knows how to handle Old Tony, how to protect herself from him. She's so used to leaving, to running away, but she can't escape this culminating point.
1. Chapter 1

"I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.  
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.  
I learn by going where I have to go."

_- The Waking, by Theodore Roethke_

**Secondary Highways**

She wakes up to the sun, the blinding slant of light fraying the lace of her curtains, the fabric billowing against the soft breeze. Her bed is pushed beside the wall so that she can see the sky from her open window when her eyes flutter open. She likes the white blindness that surrounds her, a honey warmth coiling into her room with a teasing decadence. The strange brightness pierces her conscious, and she curls into her blankets in sweet desperation for stillness, losing herself in this realm of barren sheets. Today was not built for her breath, and she would not challenge this.

She wakes up to the scratched recording of the old folk song, "Red River Valley", the tune curling up through the adjoining fire escape from the record player in the apartment beneath hers. All she needs to see is Audrey Hepburn with a ukulele singing Moon River, and then she'll know that she has truly drifted away. A small smile escapes her lips; this song is her constant lover, awakening beside her every morning and whispering into the soft skin of her ear. The vague chords fluttering upon incandescent threads and plaiting themselves into spider-web patterns in her sleepy consciousness.

She wakes up to the thumping of basketballs in the courtyard down below, the jeers of young boys distantly echoing in unison.

She wakes up alone, again. No surprise there.

His face pops unwillingly into her mind, inciting a groaning scowl, and reflectively she throws her covers away from her and swings her legs over the bed, her bony knees bumping the guitar leaning against it. The battered thing is older then she is and certainly held the appearance of it. The dark wood is scratched to hell and beyond, the strings yellowed and in bad need to be replaced, and all of this only made it more infinitely dearer to her. She sighs, blinking away her sleep. Stares blankly at the wall as she unconsciously makes the effort to collect her willpower.

God she doesn't want to go to work today.

She gets up and leaves the bedroom, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor and resting the guitar by the doorway. Her apartment always seems to hum, a tickling energy of current that spills into her skin and eases the tension from her body. She stands at the kitchen sink, wearing her ratty boxers and a grey tank top, staring solemnly as the smoky light peeking from the blinds creates parallel stripes upon the countertop.

She knows he's the reason of her reluctance. She enjoys his company, yes, but something has changed. She has slowly begun to grasp the fact that her entire world seems to revolve around him, her actions, her relationships, even her thoughts. She rubs the leaf of the potted plant between her fingers, still staring emptily as she thinks of him.

He's different now, broken and stronger all at once, she finds herself regretting this change. She knows how to handle Old Tony, how to protect herself from him. She's afraid of him, and though part of her understands why, she prefers to ignore it. She swiftly turns on the kettle, and waits.

She draws herself backwards into her big, faded armchair, curling her legs over and into its massive arms. She lovingly strokes the midnight blue dress slung over the chair, its folds rippling in luminescent swells.

Tonight was the benefit for the California Hospitals Fund, hosted by Stark Industries. As P.A. to the C.E.O, it was her responsibility to attend these events, and she reveled the opportunity to participate. Slipping into a silk dress that hugged her curves, it was her only opportunity to truly be feminine and not worry about her professional reputation.

She couldn't wait to wear it tonight, hoping the evening would provide a cool respite to the month's heat wave. This was another basis for her reluctance to leave her apartment. It was bloody hotter than hell outside, and she was vaguely afraid of the guttural noise her air conditioner was spitting out as of late.

She sighs. She cannot be late for work. Not unless she wants all hell to break loose, which is often the case in the wake of her absence. His face emerges in her mind yet again. She can't understand why her skin instinctively crawls uncomfortable at the thought of him.

She's already annoyed with herself today, for breaking her resolve to not think about him, the last thing she needs right is the incredible urge to strangle him. On a normal workday he's cooped up downstairs, she's typing away on the couch, and occasionally she'll convince him to attend a meeting in between. Every day since the funeral of his old mentor the routine has changed in highly irritable ways. For one thing he _cannot_ leave her alone. For the most part she usually enjoys his company, however when someone asks the same mundane question over and over again as a pretense to check up on her, needless to say it's a tad annoying.

She knows that the majority of today will be spend counting down the seconds until she can go home. This is also a new development, work used to be her entire life, often working long enough that she just steals a guest bed and starts it all over again in the morning. Now she just wants to finish her tasks and get the hell out of there.

God she loves this place. It's such a change from the cold perfection of his mansion, the humming of her place so much more endearing then the lonesome pounding of that pointless waterfall wall he has in his living room. This apartment is a frayed reminder of the life she left behind, a life of hand-me downs and no-fixed addresses, and the only evidence of the woman she truly is. She cannot see him ever fitting in here, his billionaire-self gawky in this crooked frame of hers, the life she hides from him.

She grew up a wanderer, and for the first time in her life, in the incredibly materialistic society of Malibu, she doesn't want to leave. She half-suspects that it's his fault that she hasn't yet ditched the land of the Barbie's years ago, and she hates him for it.

It was obvious to all he was acting slightly overprotective of Pepper since the incident with Obadiah Stane, and it was also clear that his constant supervision was beginning to irritate the hell out of her. The most common sight as of late was the image of Pepper staring at the ceiling, eyes rolled heaven-wards, as he has _yet again _interrupted her on her blackberry thus overriding the current caller. Needless to say he had become... preoccupied... with the personal safety of his staff, narrowing in on one in particular.

She knows today he will track her down and stare at her in that way that makes her shift uncomfortably, burning warmth infusing the tips of her ears.

Something has changed. He's different now, she's already realized this, and subconsciously she begins to change too. She fears he wants to pull her out of this shell, her secret safeguard, and bring her fully into his life. He wants her in his world, and this scares her.

Tony could never ever understand why she can't. He couldn't. He understands nothing about her.

What he knows is this.

Virginia, well, Pepper (as far she is concerned, and despite popular belief, he does not and will not receive credit for this name) Potts, was born sometime in the early 70's, grew up in some part of the country that he certainly never visited, caught his attention merely for being the only red-headed employee in the whole of Stark Industries staff, and to top it off he has now noticed that Ms. Potts is quite attractive. She doesn't know it yet, but he thinks her to be beautiful. And he knows that only those who genuinely care for him would willingly stick their arms into the "pus" filled cavity in his chest and freak out over the possibility that they may have killed him. She _knows_ he thinks it's just a matter of time that she'll realize her pent up desire for him and jump his bones.

Think again Mr. Stark.

He doesn't know that it will take the shudder of heaven and earth to weaken her resolve against him.

He doesn't know she likes popsicles in summer or that she once kissed a blueberry in lieu of a boyfriend in the elementary playground of her youth.

He doesn't know that her mother was an eccentric artist who plainly forgot about her children when they still needed her, dragging them off state to state whenever she wanted a different view of the stars. And how for the longest time Pepper would be driving down the interstate with her whole life in the backseat and would have to pull over, scared shitless when she realized whom she was turning into. The girl with the nowhere eyes. A girl with no father and a mother whose vision only held a century of hardships.

He doesn't know that the stick-figured drawings taped on her office wall were lovingly drawn from the Ortiz' small daughter who lived upstairs, whom Pepper positively adored, and on her 31st birthday she had realized how desperately she wanted funny pictures from her own child.

He doesn't know that she can play the guitar, and play it well too. It was the only possession of the father she didn't know, and if he ever looked closely he would see the calluses in her fingers.

He doesn't know that the scuff marks on the dark hardwood floor was the evidence of three weeks Pepper once spent teaching 12 year old Rob Walsh the ever-so classic waltz, so he could impress his crush at the school's winter formal.

He doesn't know that she has the name "Frank" tattooed on the small of her back right above the band of her underwear, evidence of a boyfriend she wouldn't have even remembered if it weren't for the inked evidence, her one and only attempt to do something to defy the stereotype of herself. And yes, she regrets it.

He doesn't know that she didn't move to Malibu for her career, but rather because even though her mother dragged her across North America in a tiny van for her entire childhood, she had never once seen the ocean.

He doesn't know that on every Saturday and Sunday morning she goes jogging on the beach trails with a man considerably more attractive then Tony could ever dream of being, more witty, very single, very straight, who remembered every birthday for the past 3 years, and quite frankly the exact opposite of a womanizing playboy asshole.

He doesn't know that for three months, three very still months, she cried every day, and lost it completely. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't sleep, and she came to realize that maybe he was a bit more then a 'boss'. It was with a shuddering comprehension on that evening where she found herself sobbing in his workshop, that she understood. He was the one who grounded her. She didn't stay for the nice weather, the celebrity sightings, the life of the rich and famous, she stayed for him. She used to think the reason she didn't pack up and leave was because it was nice to be needed, to have someone so dependent on her that they couldn't manage without her, without even seeing that she needed him too. He doesn't know that even though she loves him...loves him wholly and dearly, she will never tell him this. She will never cease to be Ms. Potts and their relationship will continue on as it had been from the beginning. He'll get bored by her unwillingness to play his games and will revert to his old ways, leaving a trail of clothes of whichever new conquest of his in his wake. She was a child raised by an interstate, a wanderer of secondary highways. Tony, however, was raised by 13 different nannies.

More correctly, what he knows it this: Not a goddamn thing.

The kettle begins to whistle, a mournful wail of a noise, jolting her fully awake.

She has her tea, a drop of honey for good measure, and prepares for her day. Her work clothes are of the finest stitched material and bought in the most exclusive boutiques in Malibu. She shimmies into a $300 skirt, and becomes someone else entirely. The transition from grungy to professional never ceases to amaze her. If she had walked past her mother on the street, it was doubtful either could recognize one another. She couldn't blame her. After all, as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, she could hardly recognize the poised, elegant, stubborn woman staring tiredly back at her.

It often takes a great deal of effort in the mornings to compose her professional self, preparing herself for the endless hours it will take for her freckles to battle out from under her concealer. She places her address book in between her teeth as she weaves her hair into an intricate bun, her small figure engrained in the slanting light of the curtains as she stands in front of the scratched cheval mirror. As she pulls her soft-colored hair up, she gazes at an old Polaroid sticking out from the corner of its bordered edge, and memories began to flutter painfully in her minds eye.

It was old and faded, weary of years thrust into a bag or backpack or whatever, the stories it could tell just by the sight of its condition. Jaundice-stained of time spent on a radiator in Iowa, crinkled from her apron when she once worked as a waitress on a riverboat in B.C, the colored pigments cracked from the dry heat of Texas when she once took a wrong turn in the middle of nowhere. Water-damaged from an ocean of tears two years previous.

It was a picture of land and sky, daylight and laughter. She must have been 16 then, her brother just 17. She always felt old when she stared at the child she used be, the constant runaway. It was taken somewhere in the prairies, for the life of her she couldn't remember who had taken the picture. She remembered how the sky swept over her, endless and infinite, painting itself across the grassland landscape. The Chevrolet had been parked halfway into a ditch hidden by funny looking flowers; it's battered form seeping amongst the golden particles of rising dust. The filtered sunlight nearly blinded the lens, peeking from abstract shapes and encompassing the figures in a white haze. Cream-jeweled prairie grass as tall as the car rippled against the white scorching tide of sky, entangled in a lengthy weave. The cotton-ball shaped clouds were yellowed with age, blue-rimmed, sifting across the encompassing sky. The girl child and the boy child sat cross-legged on the top of the car, clinking 25-cent wineglasses high up into the expansive sky amongst the tall reeds. She peers into their faces and marvels at the happiness. She catches only a glimpse of her brother's face, as he was faced away from the camera, but she still savors the tiny glimpse of the grin that was there. She can't look at herself for too long. She couldn't remember having that same joyous happiness as in that moment. The girl's eyes were crinkled shut as she was bent over laughing, her red hair sweeping across her face and resting on the scarred guitar that laid on her lap.  
Finally free, free of the burden of that tormented wayward woman. She often wonders if her mother would ever think back on them, telling the story of her forgotten children, with names like two hokey characters out of a Brothers Grimm tale, Pepper and Peter who ran off in a beat up Chevrolet and never looked back.

No, he couldn't understand.

She sighs, blowing an errant strand away from her face, and smoothes out her fringed bangs. Well, this was as good as it was going to get.

She does not want to go to work today. She does not want to see him. She closes her eyes, remembering she needs to pick up his coffee and his dry-cleaning and make sure he eats breakfast when she goes down into his workshop.

'Fuck. Just get through today, Virginia'.

She resolves to push past any of her conflicting thoughts and dwell on them later on in the evening; she will look at him in the same capacity of Boss and P.A. as previously done. She slides the blackberry into the pocket of her suit jacket, places the Bluetooth headset over the curve of her ear, grabs her purse, and leaves the remnants of Virginia Potts behind.

TBC.

* * *

I have to apologize for this kind of sketchy chapter, it's my least favorite and I just need to get it out of the way. The next chapters will probably be slightly better, lol. Also sorry for the past/present mix ups.

Reviews are always nice! :)


	2. Chapter 2

"Age, and the deaths, and the ghosts.  
Her having gone away  
in spirit from me. Hosts  
of regrets come & find me empty."

_-He Resigns, John Berryman_

**Chapter 2**

It is fucking hotter then hell.

The day is sweltering, and Pepper wonders if her brain has completed full meltdown. Her eyelids continuously droop downwards, and her blouse sticks unbecomingly to her skin. She shifts uncomfortably, and grimaces as she peels her undershirt off her sticky skin and flaps the lacy border, trying to gain a little breeze. Tendrils of hair escape its harnessed bun and plasters itself into dark whirls on her neck. The morning heat had descended like a scorching wave, settling into every pore and eviscerating all and any moisture.

She struggles to compose her face into some semblance of unflappable professionalism, to maintain a cool visage, but she is so unbelievably incredibly tempted to throw her clipboard to the ground and scream "What the FUCK?!!!" to the idiot executive who thought it was an excellent idea to schedule the ceremonial opening of the new wing to Los Robles Medical Centre in the middle of a heat wave.

She closes her eyes, envisioning all 60 people attending suddenly collapsing of heat stroke, plummeting face forward into concrete oblivion; carnage by sunlight. Newspaper articles previewing tragic photographs of bodies boiled to death, mouths open like fish in need of water. One body will be stiff and poised, heels sticking up like the wicked witch of the East, clipboard in hand and red hair indiscernible from the freaking sunburn that has already started to envelop her skin.

'I have clearly died and ended up in Hell', a thought drifts into the ever expanding void of her mind.

She swallows in vain; there is nothing to swallow. Her throat stings with the effort, the parched skin exhaling an arid drench of heat. She steals a swift glance to her right; Sophie Lennon, the Stark Industries publicist, has already stripped down to her tank top and is rasping for breath. They share an understanding, disbelieving look. She swings her head to her left, her eyebrows curling upwards in confusion. Christ almighty, the man isn't sweating at all. This particular reporter is decked out in full suit, a hat to top it all off, clearly unaffected by the temperature. Clearly insane. He glances at her in superior disdain, his thick black mustache twitching in all its nonchalant glory. She lifts her chin, and pretends to be nonchalant about the situation.

"Can we get this show on the road?" Sophie grumbles in a scratchy whisper.

Pepper smiles sympathetically before glancing at her jacket and cringing, thoughts furiously racing in her mind. 'Shit shit shit, deodorant malfunction. Shit. Oh god, always get aluminum deodorant, always get aluminum deodorant. When will you learn?' She contemplates taking off the jacket, but frankly she's slightly uncomfortable with the prying eyes of the gentleman to her left.

Pepper searches the sky in an agonizing search for clouds, which proves futile, the blue expansive bowl swelling in circular dimensions entirely void. Not a single one.

She subtly attempts to fan herself with her clipboard, quickly halting its movements as she catches a glimpse of a mustache curving into a smirk. She narrows her eyes him and straightens her back, stabbing her pencil into her coiled hair bun.

She couldn't help but cast a helpless glance to her boss, the current centre of attention who surprisingly, for once, didn't have his dark eyes cast upon her wilting form. He had long ago ditched the suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt to his elbows and vainly tugging open the knot of his tie. Even Tony, in all his suave composure, clearly couldn't resist a look of disbelief as he briefly stared at the neon numbers of the hanging clock from the news van, incredulously raising an eyebrow and cracking a jaw, his hand thumbing ruthlessly against his goatee. One more hour to go. He was behind the makeshift podium, conducting a long, well prepared speech that took his P.A. far too long to write in honor of the new Wing, and as far as she could ascertain the only one actually listening was the mustached fellow beside her, who was busy furiously scribbling notes. The usual witty cadence of his voice was reduced to weary droning, flipping aimlessly through cue card after cue card, monotonously flinging the previous one to the ground.

"and Stark Industries has made great strides in communication with the board of health and, uh, is proud to support the expansion of this Centre as an initiative to…"

'I am a lifeless, she thinks to herself, 'A red wilting weed trying to survive this impermeable freaking wall of heat. I cannot be breathing, am I breathing? Dammit Virginia you gotta remember to breathe.'

She hugs her clipboard to her chest, the hot metal clasp digging into her skin. Her body has got to be raining sweat. Fuck it. She strips off her jacket, revealing a white cotton camisole. Nothing too inappropriate, given the weather, but she hardens her jaw as the man beside her tears his eyes from his notepad and gives her an appreciative glance.

'Did I turn the stove off this morning?" Pepper's eyes widen in momentary panic as the thought crosses her mind.

"because it is essential to maintain a strong cooperation between the progress made in the medical community and…"

'No, no. I turned the stove off. ' She stands there with an interested look plastered to her face, half-listening.

She ties the sleeves around her waist, and rubs her brow tiredly. Tony stops, mid-sentence, as he catches sight of his assistant. His prolonged silence attracts a small ripple of murmurs. She doesn't notice his gaze, too distracted as the brilliance of the sun scorches her eyelashes into a white haze. The sweat drips from her brow and blinds her vision. She squints exasperatedly in his general direction, catching on to the silence and straining an ear to hear the end of his sentence.

'Good God man, spit it out.' she grumbles to herself, annoyed by the uncustomary length of the pause.

His mouth quirks into a small smile, before his head abruptly rises as if jerked awake. He tosses the rest of the cue cards on the podium and takes a step back, raising an eyebrow. Tony slips his hands into his pockets, surveying the crowd briefly.

"Look. It's hotter then hell out here. I don't want to be held responsible for anyone getting heatstroke, so how bout I wrap this up? We're proud, there's a lot of money going around, there's more room in this hospital, they're thankful, and we're all happy campers. All's good? Good. I think that pretty much sums this day up."

He grabs the giant scissors off the table and quickly cuts through the ceremonial ribbon, barely acknowledging the medical director's eager handshake. The press instantly jolts awake, surprised, the flurry of questions erupting in his wake as he hops off the stage. He yanks off his tie as he disappears from the eye-line of the news cameras.

Pepper's mouth drops open. This wasn't the agreement. She rudely shoves past the mustached man and pushes her way through the thinning crowd as she attempts to spot her retreating boss. She glimpses his blue dress shirt walking towards the limo, his tie stuffed into his back pocket. She breaks free from the crowd and rushes after him. She quickens her pace to try to meet his long, purposeful strides as they make their way across the parking lot. He runs a hand through his rumpled hair, his dress shirt pulling taut against his shoulders.

'Man he's got a nice back', she thinks to herself briefly before mentally slapping herself. 'His back? You're dreaming about his back? What the hell is wrong with you Virginia?'

She struggles to catch up with him, grimacing as she realizes that her original plan to stay focused is rapidly disappearing.

"Tony you promised you'd give a half-hour speech and do a little Q and A! It was included in the contract!"

He briefly glances behind him at her scurrying form, sparing a smile.

"Listen Potts, if there's a corner I'll cut it. And why are you whining, geez, we're all sweating bullets here. You should be kissing my feet."

He throws her a cocky grin before tossing his jacket into the open door, swinging into the limo and cutting short a yelp as his skin touches the hot leather. Pepper pauses, too surprised to say anything before shrugging in agreement. She leans in, and smiles endearingly at him as he arches his body in pain away from the scalding seats.

"Smooth Ace." She can barely hear him murmuring to himself.

She abruptly changes her mind about slipping in beside him. She peers at him with an amused grin, and shakes her head.

"I think I'll just wait until Happy catches on that the speech is over and we can get out of here."

Pepper props herself against the vehicle, crossing her ankles. She slings her jacket against the limo roof, leaning against it to protect her skin from the scorching black metal. She rests the clipboard on the roof, and sighs wearily as she crosses her arms, stealing a glance at her watch. Tony likewise catches on, using his jacket to cover the roasting seats. He lies down on his back, crossing his ankles, head barely hanging out of the open door and grinning boyishly up at Pepper. She smiles down at him as she leans her standing form closer to him, her throat stiffening as his eyes twinkle endearingly at her.

"Comfy?"

"Very. Just enjoying the view." His voice comprises a mixture of teasing and fondness.

Blushing, she realizes the strap of her camisole is teetering on the brink of her shoulder, and ignoring his pout she quickly adjusts it.

She releases a small sigh, thankful that despite the blistering heat it was a relatively pleasant afternoon. She grabs the top of the open door, moving it back and forth to produce a small semblance of a breeze, careful to avoid hitting his head. Tony closes his eyes, the tension in his face relaxing, soothed by the shade she provided.

"Hey, did you get my text?" He mumbles offhandedly.

"Oh, no, I'll check." Pepper's brow crinkled in confusion, apparently today's heat had affected her brain more then she thought if she could have gone more then an hour before looking at her phone. She reaches across him to dig through her purse strewn on the seat, avoiding his piqued interest in her stretched form, and finally makes a grab for her blackberry. She laughingly swats his head as she catches his wandering eyes, bending her lithe form out of the door. Pepper straightens up, ignoring his teasing eyes. She clicks on the New Message, surprised to see that it's a picture message.

It's a snapshot of a printed newspaper ad of Bayview Condos, set in an excruciatingly pompous neighborhood ranging in prices that she wouldn't be able to afford with all the raises in the world. Under the picture is a highlighted caption of the security features, and this is right about the time all the blood drains from her face. She stares at it with scrunched up eyebrows for a full minute, uncomprehending, her pulse thrumming sporadically in her neck.

Tony strains his head backwards from his perch, anticipating her response. Her heart begins to hammer, and she feels her control, her life, slipping from under her feet.

"No."

This was clearly not the reaction he was expecting. He raises his upper body until he's sitting, feet resting on the concrete and a question forming on his lips. She doesn't wait.

"No. Not a chance. I am not moving, period."

He turns his attention away from her, shifting his gaze to the departing news vans. His eyes glaze over, and as she briefly wonders if she had hurt him, he finally speaks up.

"What makes you think you have a choice?" This is a statement, not a question.

And this is where she freezes, where her pulse rises to her skin and she gets that annoying red flush on her neck.

"Wha... excuse me? What right do you... what?"

He smiles a false grin at her stumbling, slowly elevating his body until he's standing, leaning casually against the limo and crossing his arms.

"You, Ms. Potts, have access to almost every security activation in Stark Industries, making you of considerable importance to our company. And, as a result, it is in both our interests if you reside in a building more... secured for one of your standing. Consider it a new requirement for employment here."

She's gaping, she knows it. But as in any moment of incredible shock she instantly forgives the idiotic look sweeping across her face, and prepares her tongue.

"Mr. Stark, I happen to be quite content where I am, I can't believe you would even ask this of me!"

He glances at her completely perplexed.

"Look, if you're worried about paying it off, it's irrelevant. It's been done. You just have to live there, so what's the big deal? It's a good place to live. The point being that it's a thousand times safer then wherever the hell you're living now could ever be."

"Irrelevant?! Tony, this may mean very little to you, but I take pride in spending my hard-earned wages and using it to live off of it. And what's wrong with my apartment? You've never even seen it! It's extremely safe!"

He chuckles in disbelief at her reaction.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Pepper, look, you're going to give yourself a stroke. Calm down. Can't you see I'm doing you a favor?"

She grinds her teeth, willing herself to settle down.

"Mr. Stark." She begins in a somewhat pleasanter tone.

"Ms. Potts." He grins cockishly, delighting in the red flush spreading all over her body. He folds his arms in anticipation.

'He's amused,' she thinks furiously to herself, 'he thinks this is funny. Oh that spoiled little sonnuva…'

"If this is a new requirement for employment at Stark Industries, are you planning on purchasing condos with these 'security features' for _everyone_ on your staff?"

Swiftly getting bored, he cocks his wrist back to check the time.

"Only those who have access to the Ironman technology. So…no… just you."

Her mouth has dropped open yet again.

"I'd be the only one?! No one else? What about Rhodey? He has just as much security clearance as I do and his place isn't that much better then mine!"

His head swivels sharply towards her.

"How do you know what his place is like?" At the sight of her cold glare he reverts back to her question.

"Colonel Rhodes is not getting his wages from me, that's why. He can live wherever he so pleases, and besides, he has a couple of billion dollars of military equipment behind him. All you have is me, Pepper, I'm looking out for you here."

Her tone softens, still hard in its message.

"I am not a child, Tony, I don't need to be taken care of. I'm safe where I am now; I doubt any of your so-called enemies are going to be coming after me anytime soon ever since your press conference. And if anything I'm safer now then back when you were fabricating weapons of mass destruction and in competition with all of North Korea!"

He bites the inside of his cheek, his patience worn thin.

"As I said, Pepper, you don't have an option. Scratch that, you have two choices. Move out, or lose your job."

He doesn't mean it, she's fully aware of this. It's a technique of his that he has used on her on numerous occasions, and in the past it has usually worked. They both know he couldn't last two minutes without her, and she hates it when he uses his title to gain advantage. This time is different. Her jaw pops. He doesn't know what he has done to her. Is he trying to break her? Her emotions rise to the surface, her anger for him, her love, her fears, and she nearly chokes on the spindly edges of these weaknesses. She is not falling to his whim, she will not crumble, and she will not play his game any longer.

This time she actually flings the clipboard to the ground, tugging the loose strands of her hair in frustration. He cocks an eyebrow, his brow crinkling in perplexed disbelief.

"God Tony! How could you do this without even asking me?! This is my life we're talking about!"

They both don't notice Happy jogging up beside the concrete blocks, a sandwich hanging from his mouth as he struggles to place the lid on his spilling coffee cup. He stops mid-stride, staring at this public display. He glances around awkwardly, eyes wide, before tossing the coffee into the garbage can and discreetly slipping into the drivers seat.

Tony stands to the side, jaw clenched, presenting her with the open door. His eyes flash furiously, and his knuckles turn white as they gripped the door. His voice was low and demanding when he replied.

"I thought I was doing you a favor. Let's talk about this back at the office Potts, you look like you're about to faint, get in the car."

Pepper swung around and began marching in the opposite direction.

"I'll get a ride from Sophie!"

Tony shares a disbelieving look with his chauffeur, before reaching her in three long strides.

"Jesus Pepper, get in the car! We don't have time for this drama Queen act".

He forcefully grabs her by the shoulders, trying to maneuver her body towards his. She does not expect to feel his strong hands clamp around her, and with her trained instincts she swings around abruptly, her elbow flying up and hitting him in the eye.

Time slows to a bleeding still as she covers a gasp with her hands, cupping her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. 'Oh God, oh God, I just hit my boss, I just hit my boss.'

He slowly raises his head, an incredibly pissed-off expression sweeping across his face, muffling a curse as he raises a hand to touch the tender skin.

"Tony, I…"

"Fine, get a ride from Sophie. See if I care. I'll see you at the office."

Her hands shakily descend to her sides as she stares at him in wide-eyed concern, before clamping her jaw and straightening her back. He disappears into the limo, and she catches Happy's shocked expression through the tinted glass as he's ordered to drive. With a screech it revs up, the smell of tires upon concrete consuming her sense of smell. Cars weave past her, plastic bags swirling around her feet as she gazes at the retreating vehicle.

'Shit, Sophie'.

Pepper races furiously across the parking lot, only to release an annoyed groan as she realizes the publicist has already left. She cries out as she remembers that she also left her purse in the limo.

She crouches down; wrapping her arms around her knees and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she attempts to calm down.

He will destroy her, in every possible way, and he has no idea.

The sun circles the globular expanse of the sky, and time ticks in rhythm against the crevices and curves of her skin as the atmosphere whirls and transforms in its flighty wake.

She ends up having to wait on the side of the freeway for the bus. Her body sways under the hot breath of the temperature, and she folds her arms and she gazes blankly at the grey concrete. A Volkswagen slows down, the mustached reporter grinning at her as he sped off. She curls her lip in irritation, sniffing and reverting her attention to the graffiti on the concrete. Cars barrel past her, and she stares at a clump of daisies entwining themselves around the metal pole of the bus stop sign, the surrounding weeds drowning the white petals. A honk from ahead captures her attention, and she gazes down the road, where she inevitably ends up watching the heat forming simmering waves of liquid pools in the distance.

She wonders how long it'll take for him to realize that she's not coming back.

TBC

* * *

Only two more chapters left. Again, apologies for any grammatical errors.


	3. Chapter 3

"What Is Love?  
I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love.  
His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul"

_-Victor Hugo_

**Chapter 3**

He never did call.

Pepper rocked back into her chair twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, rubbing her foot against the sharp bones of the opposite ankle.

She could have been kidnapped, dead in some ditch near the freeway, and it would have been entirely his fault. And he would end up feeling terribly guilty because _he didn't call.  
Granted she probably would have hung up in any case, but that was entirely beside the point._

She drew a guilty eye to the evening dress hanging over the armchair. The shimmery ripples seemed to taunt her in its seductive agony, folding sensuously to the curves of the chair. She weighed the pros and cons. The only reason she wanted to go to this fundraiser tonight was so she could wear the dress, it really wasn't worth the paparazzi or getting mobbed by Christine Everhart.

It was just as well; it was too damn hot to go out anyway.

So here she was, on a Friday night no less, stealing shamefaced glances to that silent phone, the very act of waiting forming a hot seed of fear in her chest. Waiting anxiously for the end, for her final, inevitable goodbye.

Nightfall had wrought an eerie quietness, and she leaned over to the record player that was teetering dangerously on a stack of old novels, gingerly placing the tone arm at its curved edge. The scratchy lyrics of the song wafted through her small apartment, hitching its way through some invisible dust.

In a way she was enjoying herself. This was quite possibly the last moment she had to herself as an employed woman. There was some solitude perfection in these rare moments of peace, and she soaked in the silence of her thoughts.

This was the type of evening where she's so goddamn sweaty and hot and her hair is plastered to her neck despite the fan raging in her face. In which the comfort of bed is as appealing as one being descended into lava, no matter how badly her eyes ache to lower their veils. Twilight softly gives her the long-awaited permission to shed her skin, to mentally tell _Ms_. Potts to screw off and letting her perfectly poised posture to give way to the inevitable exhaustive slouch, her hand rubbing the contours of her head as she lets herself breathe.

These were the long nights where the heat settles in a heavy stillness, where she finds herself sitting at her mother's typewriter, tapping the keys rhythmically and aimlessly, one foot propped on the chair and the other playing with the silken grooves of the oak table legs. A glass of cheap wine and a stale joint (that she would occasionally find in rarely-opened moving boxes of her youth) simmering in long, drawn out sighs of anticipation. Orange moons peeking in through the curtains. Evenings where if she _had _to be alone she would spend her lonesomeness touching the night with futile thoughts.

This morning, she reflected, was really the same as any other, the fight exempted of course. The Malibu mornings spent cursing herself for forgetting the Spf-15, mentally willing her complexion to remain the same shade. It was laughable to think that to him it looked like she was hanging on to his every word, ready to spring to his every order, when in reality her stare of intense concentration was more accurately wondering if it was time to clean behind the refrigerator, or reciting her grocery list as well as his, or devising clever ploys in avoiding the creepy man from room 408 when she did her laundry in her building.

Pepper ripped a page from the typewriter, crumpled it, and tossed it angrily at the wall as she thought about the earlier events.

It wasn't just about the apartment, no, admittedly she saw his logic. But she wasn't leaving. She couldn't abandon the one thing that held her to her past, before she succumbed entirely to the business card persona of Ms. Potts, Personal Assistant. Her explosion this morning was the final culmination of a rising crescendo of fear, the fear that reality was sinking in. The reality being that Tony Stark was in love with Virginia Potts.

She knew it was coming. Part of her had known all along, but when it finally happened she was caught entirely off guard. She cannot lose her last bit of control.

It was the intensity of his constant stare that finally unraveled her, shaking her from the ground and suddenly making everything too real.

And she knew perfectly well why she was afraid of him.

For Christ sakes, back then he wouldn't have even noticed the days where she had forgotten deodorant, which frankly provided some great measure of relief, and now all of a sudden he seems to make a game of identifying her daily choice of perfume. He would stumble upon the truth, oh yes, she knew it the moment he smoothed out a wrinkled crease on the sleeve of her jacket the week after he returned from Afghanistan, he would find sniff out the real Pepper Potts. Why, because all of a sudden he's a changed man and now he was _interested_? Goddamn it Tony. She spent the last 8 _fucking_ years building this wall, this mask, a whole fucking fortification system entirely devoted to preventing him from screwing her and being escorted out by the next poor bastard of a PA. This is Tony, after all. He doesn't _do _(she surprises even herself with the adolescent snarkiness in her head) love. He once said it himself, as he saw past her impassive expression in a dark kitchen long ago after another faceless girl stumbled brokenhearted out of the door, 'a leopard cannot change its fucking spots.'

Now, _now_ he cares?

Oh yea, he's Ironman to boot. That's exactly what she needs to be. Another comic book cliché. He may think it's romantic as all hell, but as far she was concerned that's exactly where he could go take himself if he expected some simpering wreck of a girlfriend waiting anxiously every time he flies off in that ridiculous, yes she said it, ridiculous suit. He was saving lives without any concern to his own, and she wasn't about to stick around for judgment day.

She rests her cheek on the sharp angle of her knee, swishing the wine around in the glass, gazing as the red liquid creates a vortex of a swirling amber hue, rising and falling against the concaves of its glass cage. The leaves outside rustle as the wind brushes by their green borders, the still softness of it all lulling her eyelids into submission.

A sharp knock at the door jolts her awake, making her jump in the air as the red wine spills in unrestrained freedom over her clothes. She mutters a curse as she looks around for a napkin, rising out of the chair and eventually working her way towards the door. She vows that if it's her creepy neighbor she will go postal.

She peers into the peephole, halfway working into a mother of a yawn, before clamping her jaw shut and subsequently biting her tongue. Shit. It's Tony.

Why does the world want to fuck with her?

She doesn't immediately tear her eye away from the peephole, mentally attempting to compose and prepare herself. His body narrowed into a sliver, his head bobbing in the concave image. He was stretching his neck away from the tight, messy tie, his hair uncombed as usual. She straightens her toes further, wondering why he was wearing sunglasses at midnight. Another sharp knock jerks her into reality, and she spins around looking for a bathrobe. Nothing. She heaves in a breath, faces stock-still towards the entrance, and swings open the door.

Tony Stark is decked out in the same Armani suit that took months for Pepper to schedule a fitting for. His hands were casually slung in its pockets, and he had quite possibly the cockiest grin she had ever witnessed on a man's face. He stood with feet apart, rolling back on his heels and clinking the change in the pockets. She could see her scowl reflected back to her in his black shades.

"Evening." His words spilled out in a slow, bemused drawl.

"Tony... what are you doing here? It's midnight for God's sakes."

"You never came back."

She instantly forgets what she was about to say. She swallows, unable to reply with a reasonable explanation. A strange awkwardness settles as she stares at him with a steely gaze, Tony glancing around her into her apartment.

"So, you gonna invite me in, or do I hang out here in the hall like a vagabond"

"You can hang out in the hall like a vagabond." She replies quickly, her words as sharp as her eyes.

He cocks his head, blowing a bubble with his gum, peach-flavored, she notices absently.

"C'mon Pep (at this her mouth drops in sardonic disbelief at the mockery of her already much-mocked nickname), we're friends aren't we?"

Her jaw still dropped, she begins to swing the door shut, fully prepared to lock him out. He swiftly side-steps through the closing door, his hands still casually embedded in the silk confines of his pockets as he barely slides past her, accentuating this smooth transition with a childish hop to face her again. He lifts his chin with a silly-toothed grin, the sunglasses sliding down his nose as he chews his gum in nonchalant victory.

She folds her arms and leans back against the door, letting it fall back and click into place, setting her foot against it as she raises an eyebrow at him, jaw clenched.

"Well that wasn't very nice of you", with this he tips his head down as to mockingly glare at her from over the glasses now fully perched at the rise of his nose. He scans the woman in front of him, and she could have sworn his gaze darkened for a millisecond before returning to its twinkling state.

"Well if it isn't Virginia Potts in her jammies, although I confess did fantasize about a particular numb"

"Enough, Tony." cutting him off.

With a cocky grin, his gaze sweeps across her small apartment with a carefully scrutinizing eye.

"I was wondering if this was the right shithole building of all the shithole buildings in this neighborhood, you do realize the huge security faults concerning the front door, right? I mean, I didn't even have to press the buzzer, and let me tell you Mr. Friendly from 408 that I ran into in the elevator looks a bit too friendly to be living so close to you."

Pepper glares at him, daring him to pursue the subject. She walks past him, her feet cold on the hardwood and aching for the warmth of the woven rug in the living room. Tony follows, tearing his eyes away from her retreating form as his curiosity overwhelms him.

She realizes, in an instinctively defensive manner, that her apartment looks ancient. The only things relatively new were her clothes. The room emanates a curious warmth, a lived in feel that was entirely devoid in his mansion. Her lace curtains swelled into the living room, pregnant with a long-awaited breeze, a Woody Guthrie song drifting from the record player. He speaks up slowly, his words reflecting his slow scrutinizing stare.

"So, this is the place you're willing to risk your job for. How...cozy."

His condescension drips heavily from his mouth. She could acutely feel the tendons of her jaw at breaking point for being held so tightly. He swivels his relaxed body as he spots the garbage can, spitting his gum out as he takes off his sunglasses, fully revealing the bruise encircling his eye. She grimaces at the horrid reminder of the afternoon's events, and shame-faced diverts her gaze to the ground. He tucks the glasses in his jacket pocket, his eyes quickly examining her again.

Pepper could feel his eyes drift up the long length of her legs. He doesn't smile that arrogant grin of his, just takes it in as though it's part of the overall scenery. She quickly speaks up to distract him from where his attention currently rests.

"What's with the suit? Why are you here?"

"Well, Jarvis was watching TMZ, and" She cuts him off, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Jarvis was watching TMZ? Hmm, I'd have thought that to be highly classless for an AI. Care to explain Tony?"

"Hey, give a machine a break, it might of been E! God Pepper, don't be so presumptuous. Anyway, I find out there's yet another fundraiser that I'm apparently hosting, and yet again I wasn't given an invitation, so I get dressed in this thinking that my lovely assistant will have calmed down and be waiting to apologize to me. I drive half an hour only to be mobbed by paparazzi, get blinded by cameras, get patted on the ass by some very unfortunate looking cougars, and lo and behold, guess who's not there."

Pepper begins to stack up some of the magazines lying around, trying to maintain a cool face.

"I had no interest in going tonight."

He sucks in his cheeks, biting on the inside as he nods slowly, disinterested in her explanation.

"So, tell me Potts, you're my Personal Assistant, riddle me this. Why don't I ever go to these things? Why do you think I even went to that fundraiser? Believe me I could think of dozens of other things I'd rather be doing. You know, maybe I could answer that. I'm thinking I kinda went, because I kinda was hoping you'd be wearing that blue dress you wore the last time and maybe possibly smile that charming little smile you're so adept at, and you know, bada bing bada boom, maybe even some sparks. Stark Spark."

Pepper grimaces.

"Oh God Tony, Stark Spark? I haven't heard that expression since the 80's. What was that in, Teen Cosmo? Didn't you have a feathered hairstyle back then?"

"You're changing the subject." He states this impassively. She sighs impatiently, waving her hand aimlessly in the air.

"What do you want me to say? That I was avoiding you? Not everything's about you, Tony. Okay, I'm sorry about the bruise, it was an accident, but you can't spring something like that on me and expect me to act cool with it. I just wanted time to think, is all."

"What is there to think about? I'm offering you everything, and you continually try to make things harder for me. This, _this_, is just a place, Pep, it's tiny and cramped. How can you live like this? The condo I've bought would be considerably more suitable with someone in your position."

He's talking to her like she's a business prospect, she notices with disdain, wooing her with that corporate gleam glinting in his eye.

"First of all, don't call me Pep. And I am not changing my mind. I'm staying, and if you can't accept that then, well, maybe I should be looking els..." He abruptly cuts her off.

"So how about the grand tour? Hmm? Or should I just stand here while you point things out."

He's frustrated, she can tell, otherwise he wouldn't be such an outright jackass towards her. She continues to tidy up her apartment, ignoring him completely, worriedly glancing around for any tossed underwear.

She spins away from him and bends over to retrieve a fallen magazine, unaware of her folly.

"Jesus H Christ on a cross, who the hell is Frank?" His words are disbelieving and laughing and partly horrified as he bends to peer closer.

She feels her face enflame with some hardcore blushing, and she immediately yanks down her top to cover over her shorts, slapping away his prying fingers and swiftly pressing her back against the wall. She knows the blood is furiously spreading from her face to her neck as she instantly realizes what he's talking about. He laughs uproariously, hardly daring to believe it. He clutches a hand to his stomach as he bends over in hysterics. She rolls her eyes and waits for the moment to pass, willing the shade of her skin to return to normal. Peals of laughter echoes across her apartment. In short time he collects himself, unable to resist a momentary chuckle here and there.

"Man I'd love to hear the story behind that one." He rubs a tear away from his crinkled eye, "to think the impenetrable Ms. Potts is a rebel at heart." He places a drawling emphasis on impenetrable. Pepper shoots him a dirty look.

"Don't be gross Tony. It's none of your business. And don't think I'm ever going to tell you so you can quit asking. If you're going to stick around you can take off your shoes and stop muddying up my carpet."

His eyes twinkle at her attempt to change the topic at hand, leaving her fully aware that this incident would not be forgotten. Still chuckling, and ignoring her request completely, he reverts back to his inspection, slowly walking around the living room with his hands clasped behind his back. Tony stares briefly at an old photo-booth picture of her mother, propped haphazardly on the bookshelf, an autograph from Joe Strummer placed beside it, Disney VHS movies she keeps for the Ortiz' daughter collapsed on the shelf above it.

Pepper feels his eyes settle on the worn guitar beside her bedroom door, pausing as though he's trying to make some clever remark. She knows the sight of it disturbs him, he was not expecting this. She knew he was expecting a meticulous apartment consumed with stainless steel appliances, IKEA furniture and an overall impression of the woman he works with, no, he does not expect any of this. He is solemn. He moves on.

She doesn't know why she hasn't insisted on him leaving, why she hasn't thrown open the door and threaten to complain to HR. She hates how his roving eye methodically categorizes and lists all her possessions in that brilliant mind of his. Yet part of her wants him to see her life outside of his, to understand that she is not a slave to the Stark Industry Corporation. She wants him to understand her, to realize that their different backgrounds would make a romantic relationship together clearly incompatible. They could not possibly fit into each other's frameworks, and she has worked far too hard in her life to risk it all for a broken heart.

Tony briefly spares a moment to consider the soft dress draped over the armchair. He strokes the silk, running a calloused finger down where the shimmery fabric would have met her spine.

"Pity".

He shakes his head solemnly, reverently. She cannot shake the feeling that he has this idealized picture of her, the all-seeing and ever-perfect Pepper Potts.

If he looks in the drawer he'll find a stash of every nametag of each shitty minimum-wage job she has ever worked at. A shrine of her inner retail demon, and evidence of a life of being perpetually broke. If he looks in the cupboard above the sink he'll see a jar of homemade jam that she made all by herself one lovely day when she stumbled upon a small raspberry bush at the cities edge. If he glances at the wooden beam up above him, he'll see a romantic Yeats quote an old boyfriend carved into the oak. If he flicks through her record collection chances are he wouldn't recognize a single artist. If he thumbs through the cover of her yellowed copy of "Count of Monte Cristo" shoved into the inevitable miniscule space left in the bookshelf, he'll find the name of the only other man she has ever loved besides him.

She makes a grab for her wineglass, cocking it back and emptying it in one swig.

For years she contained the guilty seed of hope, that maybe one day he'd notice, that one day he'd care to find out. And now all she wants is for him to stick to his own backyard.

He pauses at he catches sight of the faded Polaroid picture neatly sticking out from the bordered mirror. She closes her eyes. He's so very still. She knows he's trying to decipher this woman, this man, this child she once was. She thinks of that day, that year, that silent tide of a period of her life spent staring out of passenger windows and a life born from the highways. Endless suns trailing in the distance, lonesome moons perpetually slung over her shoulder. Vulture shadows stalking in her wake. That was the year she and Peter left together, a pair of copper-headed escapees wandering nowhere in particular.

"I didn't know you had a brother", he says this quietly, cautious. It didn't take a genius to see the two figures were related.

"You didn't ask."

He switches his gaze from the photograph to her suddenly defensive form, arms crossed possessively, and he gives her a long stare.  
She shrugs.

"It's all there in my employment file." Something flickers behind his eyes, and she wonders if he's actually stung.

"Is it?" he murmurs barely audibly, mostly to himself.

She scans him wearily, propping herself against the radiator as he returns his concentration back to his inspection. Her wineglass dangles upside down from her twirling fingers, the remaining droplets falling unnoticed in rhythmic rhymes against the wood. She wants to hurt him; she wants to drive him away. Before he does it to her. She continues.

"He's dead, though, for two years now."

This clearly gets his attention, and his head swivels back to her in shock.

"Goddamn", he breathes softly, "two years ago? You've been working for me for how long? Pepper... why didn't you tell me?"

She stares at him calculatingly, before sighing and heads to the kitchen with her empty glass, calling back to him from across the room.

"I did, you gave me a ticket to Bermuda and a week off. Although you could have told me the ticket was for you from Miss Universe, I mean, have you ever spent 3 hours sitting beside a pissed off beauty queen? In coach no less."

A bitter smile escaped her lips, of course he had, (well, minus the coach bit) he was Tony Stark. Is. He is Tony Stark. She had a difficult time believing everything about him had changed since Afghanistan. She turned her head as she rinsed the glass in the sink, and immediately regretted her words. This time he did look like he was slapped. A haggard look swept across his face as he recalled the insensitive man that he once was, and she felt that familiar sharp stab of guilt. He was trying, she knew how hard he was trying, to correct his misgivings from the past. She saw, and felt, his pain every day when there was something that he couldn't do. She stood by him, hour after hour, when he would pace restlessly, tugging his hair in that new anxious manner that he had developed after his return. Yea, so he could turn into Ironman on a whim and save the world from whatever impending disaster is apparently popular, but he needed to know that some things could not be fixed, some things should not be changed, or saved.

She turns off the tap, gathering her courage as she focuses on the dripping water. She swivels around, and Tony is already there, propped up against the kitchen counter as though he knew she wanted to say something. Her words catch, and she briefly glances at the flickering yellow light above her as she attempts to regain her voice. She crosses her arms as though to protect herself, and her foot rises to play with the bottom edge of the grainy lower cupboard. He stares at her as the dark yellow light plays on the red strands of hair, illuminating the amber into sliced remnants of luminescent honeyed flickers. He knows what she is going to say.

"Tony, in all seriousness, maybe it is time I hand in my resignation. I just… I don't see my life going anywhere in this company."

His face looks sallow in this light, the weariness of his age finally being played upon the contours of his countenance. He purses his lips, swallowing roughly.

"Well, if you think that's best."

She's struck, her heart piercing in surprise. Tony turns his body away from hers, absolutely still as though he would break, he continues.

"But answer me one question, I, I just need to know."

He clutches the edge of the counter, and for the first time she can see his knuckles are white. He's not complacent, he's furious. He is sad. He is desperate.

"Do you regret ever working for me? Ever even knowing me?"

Pepper rushes forward, placing a hand on his back as he faced away from her, hunched over the counter.

"No, Tony, no. The best years of my life was spent with Stark Industries. You know I care very much for you."

He swings around, furious.

"Then what was all that bullshit about us having only each other? Does that mean nothing to you?! "

She takes a step backwards, her hand still raised from it's perch on his back, her eyes widening in shock. He walks sharply towards her, before restraining himself and rubbing a nervous hand in his rumpled hair. He steps back and forward, unknowing what to do with his feet and hands.

"Do you know how I felt when I found out that Sophie never drove you back to the office? Jesus Pepper, I was scared shitless. I drove back to the hospital but you were already gone. I waited for half an hour outside your building just to make sure you arrived back safely. At least I thought it was your building, I cannot believe you would live in a place as unsecured as this."

"Tony, don't…" He cuts her off.

"Let me say this!" His voice rises angrily, and then drops wearily.

"Fuck Potts, I think about you more then a boss should. I meant what I said. You're all I have, you are everything to me, do you understand this? I can't… I cannot risk losing you. I need to know you're safe everywhere you go. If something happens to you… I, I couldn't…"

Tony slides a shaky hand across his face. She cautiously steps forward, resting a hand on his tense shoulder. She gazes up at him sympathetically, trying to convey that she understood.

"God Pepper, what is up with your attitude lately anyway? It's like you want to shut me out of your life or something. I thought we were getting closer, and now all of a sudden I'm public enemy number 1."

She sighs, trying to pull together disjointed words to express herself clearly.

"Tony, I need this place, the same way you need that suit. It's my home, and it represents so much of me. I need to feel normal, I need a place where I can stop pretending and not be perfect and just be myself. If that makes sense…"

He straightens, dark eyes directly boring into hers. She continues.

"Tony, I, you cannot possibly understand how hard I've worked in my life to reach this point. I can't risk losing what I've gained. Taking away my apartment, i-it's like you're taking away what last bit of control I have in my life. I'm afraid that I'm going to forget who I was, who I am, to conform to this persona you've created for me in Malibu."

He stares at her for a long moment, his face hardened into stoicism and his body standing stock-still.

"I've created for you? So it's my fault you're unhappy? Pepper, it's never been my intention to _change _you. Whatever it is that I'm doing I'll stop."

She shakes her head brusquely.

"No Tony, that's not what I'm saying at all! I just, I can't explain it to you. It's me, I think I just need time to, you know, reevaluate my life or something."

He's completely still for a long moment, stepping in closer before swiftly stepping back. He grins, suddenly, the tension of in his face disappearing completely. He grabs her by the shoulders, and fondly shakes her.

"Well, don't abandon me just tonight Potts, take a day or two to think about it. You just need to take tonight to calm down. Remember, Frankie says relax."

Tony winks at her, a broad smile smoothing away the weariness in his expression. She stares at him in a shocked reverie, surprised with this swift change of attitude. He cups a large hand briefly against the back of her head, his fingers grazing the strands, eyes twinkling flirtatiously, before quickly stuffing his hands into his pockets and swivels around.

"Night Potts." He calls offhandedly over his shoulder.

He reaches the door in three long strides, and lets himself out, casually offering a two-fingered salute before disappearing from her apartment entirely.

She hasn't stopped gaping.

She hears his cumbersome steps disappearing down the hall, heavy in cadence.

She doesn't want to be that girl, the woman staring out into the unthinkable vastness of the night, wondering where he was

The clock on the mantle is ticking, ticking, and still ticking; she can no longer hear his footsteps. A minute goes by, she props herself up until she's sitting on the counter and rests her chin on the sharp bone of her knees, never taking her gaze off the microwave clock.

Another minute goes by.

'The faucet needs to be tightened', she thinks absently, her ears straining to hear the roar of his Audi from the street below amidst the deafening ticking and the dripping and the overall thunderous quiet. Her toes play with the counters edge.

12:37.

"Goddamn it Virginia", she whispers to herself as another minute appears and she sighs, sliding off the counter and grabbing her keys. Maybe she could catch him in the parking lot. Without bothering to put on shoes, she twists the knob and opens the door.

"Tony?" She wearily calls out his name (though fully aware that he must be driving off at that moment) as she steps out the door and prepares to head for the elevator.

She never gets the chance.

She stops short. He's leaning against the wall, head slightly tilted upwards in agonizing restraint, jaw clenched and eyes shut. His chest is rising and falling in staccato rhythm, fists still gripped in his pockets. And he's shaking, oh God, he's trembling. She registers all of this in a mere millisecond before he springs from his restrained position and suddenly he's there, he's everywhere, a flash of Armani, a huge weight crushing against her, raw energy consuming her as the scent of engine grease and burnt hair (the price to pay with the suit, she later supposed) invades her senses. He abruptly grabs her head with two trembling hands that seemed to encompass her entire face and smashes his lips against hers, pulling her hot up against him, and immediately tears his lips from hers. He quickly bends down to kiss her again, but curbs himself at the last possible second, gasping raggedly as though it physically hurt him to restrain himself from her. Raw pain etched in every aged contour as his hands clench through her hair with impatience, his dark gaze furiously switching from her lips to her eyes and back again.

"Please, God, please Pepper", he whispers her name, and all she can see is the broken remnants of a defeated king, and all her walls come crumbling down.

Here they stand, on the precipice, the edge of the joker's trap. She places a hand at the back of his head, and pulls him into her. Time simmers in a heated sigh as they became lost in each other, falling further with each shaky gasp. He pushes her against the wall, closing every minute space in between them. Her hands clench against his shirt, the edge of his sunglasses jabbing at her until finally breaking with the combined forces. The rawness of his kisses softens into something inexplicably gentler, as she finally grasps his hand and leads him inside.

The elevator opens, empty, unnoticed.

TBC.

* * *

Ugh. Yea, I should definitely come back to this and get a beta one day. I'm so sick of writing this, lol, I want it off my computer. I just want to assure everyone that this wasn't me trying to be a Mary-Sue (whatever that means), it wasn't like I was staring around at my apartment and putting it into the story. I was genuinely interested in what Pepper might be like outside the office, and in her own home. Like, it really nagged at me, and different ideas came to mind. The reason I wrote so much about mundane things like the photograph and random objects in the apartment was just in case I ever decided to extend this oneshot into something more... rounder. Unlikely, but that's how it all began.

One more chapter left.


	4. Chapter 4

"Break a vase,  
and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger  
than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole."

_-Nobel Lecture, Derek Walcott_

**Chapter 4**

The next morning she awakens to the soft scratched words of "Red River Valley" languidly settling into her room with a light happy warmth that seeps into her liquid bones. She stretches, straining each muscle and curling her toes, bumping into his thigh. Her red eyelashes turn white as she blinks her sleep away, and gazes out at the bright sky. She props herself a bit upwards, watching him sitting naked on the edge of her bed, the sunlight bathing the rippled muscles and the white burning light filtering his strong form in and out of her consciousness, illuminating him.

He hadn't left.

Ok, so maybe he was serious.

He pays no notice to her, intently focused on each pallid page of an old photo album she had been lugging around for 15 years. His hands skimming the fading pictures with the savoring stillness he usually reserved for his most prized projects in his workshop. There is an odd familiarity to this scene, and she marvels at it. She nudges a foot harder into his thigh, sweeping the length of her hair over her neck and letting it rest on one shoulder as he tears his gaze away from an old black and grey photo booth picture of her and a friend she could no longer remember.

"Get over here Stark, I'm freezing".

He grins crookedly, almost shyly, softly shutting the album and resting it on the chair.

"Yes Ma'am."

He lifts the sheet over and above him and slowly lowers the length of his hard body over her form, wrapping his defined arms around her tiny waist and resting his head on her breast. He laughs into her skin, for no particular reason, breathing and tasting the golden dust of her skin. For a long while they say nothing, letting the sun curl sensuously into their skin.

"What do you want to do today?" She finally whispers into his unruly hair.

His arms tighten around her and she feels his chest vibrate against her stomach.

"Well I was thinking about us getting a certain matter of 'Frank' removed, but I think I'm enjoying this a bit more".

She grins as she rests her head upon his ruffled crown and places her hands on opposite sharp shoulder blades.

"So does this mean I win?" He teasingly mumbled against her skin.

"Hey, just be happy I let you back inside." She laughingly sighs, as though he was a stray dog, "You can't get everything you want, you know."

"No, but I came pretty damn close. And I think, or hope or whatever, that I kinda already have what I want."

She feels the curve of his smile widening into a grin against her freckles. She kisses the top of his head and runs a slender hand through his tousled hair. Her other hand drops on its way to his back and he stares at the ribbed calluses in her fingers as they go by. She doesn't say anything. The music from down below wafts into a soft cadence throughout the honeyed cocoon of her bedroom.

"And maybe", he continues softly, "this place isn't such a rats-nest after all. I mean, security's a joke, but that's fixable. And mayb..." With this he turns his head and rests his chin on her slender body, staring intently at her from his perch. "What I'm saying is that if this place means so much to you, then it means something to me too." He grins nervously, quite possibly the first time she had ever witnessed him to be the slightest bit nervous, "I think, Pepper Potts, there's still a lot I need to learn about you...and I fully intend..."

He stops, propping his body on his elbows as he finds himself distracted by a lone freckle hiding in her belly button. He was never one for confession. As he bends his head down to softly kiss it, Pepper turns her gaze to the bright burn of vibrant daylight streaming from the window's wavy glass.

"I knew you'd come around", she murmurs victoriously.

* * *

So yea, this was written really quickly, really impulsively, so my apologies for the, uh, lack of continuity or jumpy writing. A couple of things are off with this story, but I just want this document off my computer, lol. And sorry for the unnecessary abundance of swearing, I've just been in a perpetually grumpy mood as of late, and this is just what's shooting out. : ) And again my apologies about the past/present tenses getting mixed up, I'm just incurable.


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